Pride. Rachel Vincent

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      “Of course.” Malone shot an annoyed glance at my uncle, then adopted a professional pose. But when he faced me, I saw that same gleam of animosity in his eyes. “So you were in an…excited state when you bit Mr. Wallace?”

      A mischievous grin lurked behind my solemn courtroom face, and it took all my self-control to stifle it. As well as a hard, self-inflicted pinch on my arm, through the white blouse my father had chosen to make me look innocent. And to cover the new belly-button ring he didn’t think projected the right image during my hearing.

      “You might say that. We were at school, on our lunch break. Neither of us had a class for a couple of hours, so we wound up at his apartment.”

      “In bed?” Paul Blackwell leaned forward from Malone’s right side, gripping the curve of his cane hard enough to make his withered fingers creak.

      Blackwell was the senior member of the tribunal, as well as the Territorial Council, and had been clinging tenaciously to his position as Alpha of the southwest territory for years, in spite of urgings from his family and several other Alphas to turn the reins over to his son-in-law. He was mulish, outspoken, and hopelessly old-fashioned, stubbornly adhering to outdated ideas about premarital sex and a woman’s place in the world. In fact, he seemed as scandalized by my “indecent” relationship with Andrew as by the thought that I’d infected and murdered him.

      But according to my father, Blackwell was both honest and honorable. He would vote based on his conscience, rather than on any political alliance or previously held grudge. So I’d just have to make sure his conscience knew I was innocent. Mostly. And that I respected myself enough not to apologize for something I hadn’t deliberately done.

      I met his eyes boldly, to show I wasn’t ashamed. “Yes. In bed. We were having sex, and I just…nibbled his ear a little too hard.”

      “And your sworn testimony is that you never actually Shifted during this…occasion?” Malone asked, as if to confirm facts he’d already heard half a dozen times.

      I nodded, then turned my head from side to side to ease the stiffness that had settled into my neck from sitting in the same position for hours at a time. “Only my teeth Shifted, like I told you last time. And the time before that. And the time before that—”

      “Faythe…” Michael warned, and wood creaked behind him as our father moved in his seat.

      In spite of his position as head of the council, my father hadn’t been allowed to serve on the tribunal overseeing my trial because of his relationship to the accused—me. But he’d insisted on being present the entire time, though he wasn’t permitted to actually speak during the proceedings. He sat directly behind Michael in a straight-backed chair against the wall, as he had for the last three hours, one ankle crossed over his opposite knee, hands resting on the chair arms. By all appearances he was relaxed and confident, but I knew by the firm line of his mouth that he was every bit as irritated as I was. And a lot more nervous, which made me wonder if there was something he wasn’t telling me.

      Frowning, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in my chair, awaiting the next question. Which would no doubt be something I’d already answered.

      Malone looked up from the slanted scrawl on his legal pad. “Did Mr. Wallace notice that your teeth had Shifted?”

      “No. I didn’t either.”

      Malone’s head jerked up and his eyes found mine, his brows high in surprise. Evidently I’d said something new. “If you didn’t know your teeth had Shifted at the time, how can you possibly be sure that’s what happened?”

      Shit. I sat back in my chair, going for calm confidence. “Because that’s the only logical conclusion. I infected Andrew somehow—” we knew that for a fact based on his scent “—and I never intentionally Shifted in front of him. So it stands to reason that I did it by accident. And the day I bit him was the last time I saw him until the day he died. It must have happened then.”

      Blackwell appeared unconvinced, and Malone looked downright dubious. “Since you brought it up, let’s talk about the day Mr. Wallace died,” he said, shuffling though his papers again.

      My head throbbed as I massaged my temples. Whatever amusement I’d felt over the proceedings drained from me, replaced by dread and a horrible, hollow ache. “I’ve already told you everything.”

      “Tell us again.” Malone didn’t look up from his pages.

      We’d been over every single aspect of their accusations and Andrew’s death in the past thirty-six hours, only taking short breaks for food and rest. There was nothing to be gained from repeating any of it, except possibly to wear me down, which had to be their goal. They were trying to trip me up. Catch me in a lie. But that wasn’t going to happen; I was telling the truth, whether they believed it or not.

      My eyes closed, and the memory rolled over me, rendered no less horrible by the number of times they’d made me relive it. I flinched as Andrew’s face came into focus in my head. I couldn’t help it. Watching him die was one of the most difficult things I’d ever endured, and knowing I’d been the cause, however unwillingly, was the biggest regret of my life.

      “What do you want to know?” I couldn’t keep weariness from my voice, but I made myself meet their eyes, knowing they’d see guilt rather than grief if I didn’t.

      Malone scanned his notes. “Where did you get the spike?”

      The railroad spike. That horrid, seven-inch iron spear, which had gone right through Andrew’s neck, spilling his life along with his blood. “They were all over the floor…” I trailed into blessed silence when I couldn’t purge the image from my mind.

      “Why did you stab him with it?”

      My hands clenched into fists again, this time on top of the table, where everyone could see them. “I was trying to knock him off me. He was going to crush my head!”

      Malone leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at me. “Or maybe he was threatening to tell everyone what you did. That you infected him. I imagine that would seem reason enough to kill him.”

      I took a deep, calming breath. “Look, I didn’t mean to kill him, and I certainly wasn’t trying to cover anything up. There were five other people with us minutes earlier, and even if I hadn’t already told them I’d infected Andrew—and I’m sure any one of them will swear I had—they could smell my scent in his blood. It wasn’t a cover-up. It was self-defense.”

      Malone’s eyes narrowed, his mouth already opening to argue, but Uncle Rick beat him to the punch. “We’ve heard all of this before,” he said, and I glanced at him in gratitude. “Let’s move on.”

      “Fine.” Malone scowled, leafing through his papers until he found whatever he was looking for. His eyes settled on me again, and I didn’t like the eager look in them. “Is it true that you’ve turned down multiple proposals of marriage over the past six years?”

      What? My face blazed in anger. “What the f—” I paused for a quick rephrase, because cursing at a panel of Alphas was a very, very bad idea. “What does that have to do with anything? Andrew never asked me to marry him.”

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